A Day of Contrasts in China
Yesterday had all the makings of a story worth telling—one of contrast, curiosity, and quiet connection.
It started like many mornings here do: with a walk to the local McDonald’s. Now I know—McDonald’s isn’t exactly the place you’d expect to find breakfast inspiration in China. But hear me out. There’s something about the version here in China that feels… cleaner? The sausage and egg sandwich, and the scrambled egg with real chicken—it’s not the greasy, overly processed fare you might picture. It tastes fresher. More grounded. Call me crazy, but I’d stand by that, and besides, it feels a little like home.
But just a few hours later, I’d find myself in a completely different world: the local farmer’s market.
We were on our way to the Hilton, which has become our go to place to study and work, when we spotted it—rows of red canopy tents, crowds of locals, tables overflowing with fresh produce and raw meats. We decided to stop and get some fruit. And what a stop it turned out to be.
China is so often portrayed through its sleek, modern lens, and it’s not inaccurate. The towering skyscrapers in Shanghai, robotic café service at hotels, electric cars that outnumber gas-powered ones, and taxis that are nicer than what I drive back home, it’s all very real. But just as real is the farmer’s market: vibrant, traditional, tactile.
Fruit stands stretched as far as the eye could see; bananas, peaches, plums, nectarines, and lots of fruits I couldn’t name if I tried. Everything looked fresh, colorful, and in-season.
Some tables featured varieties I’d never seen in an American grocery store. It’s like the fruit aisle back home got a major upgrade with a few surprise guests.
But then came the raw side of the market, unrefrigerated slabs of meat, fish laid out on tables, prawns and crawdads glistening in the open air.
I’m learning to be a bit more adventurous here, but I’ll admit, I’m still hesitant when it comes to unrefrigerated meat in the heat of the day. Even so, it was impressive. And oddly beautiful in its own raw, rustic way. It didn’t surpass the table full of raw chicken I saw once visiting Malaysia, but it’s still a sight to see.
One older gentleman grinned at me, waving me over. A woman launched into an enthusiastic pitch (I think), and though I didn’t understand a word, I appreciated her effort. Just then, my phone rang, Xue calling to find out where I’d disappeared to.
It’s moments like these where I feel most like a visitor, but not a complete outsider.
At the Hilton later that day, an oasis of calm and elegance, I found a cozy spot to set up my laptop with a power outlet even. As I got situated, I noticed a woman watching me from across the room. One of the hotel staff, maybe a manager by her looks. She smiled; I smiled. She walked over, glanced at my screen, curious, then wandered off. Xue says it’s because I’m a foreigner. She’s probably right. Most people are just curious, and mostly kind.
This morning, for instance, as I was walking home from McDonald’s, a gentleman walking toward me smiled and said, “Good morning,” in pretty decent English. I smiled back and returned the greeting with enthusiasm. Moments like that warm my heart. I know I stand out here, but I rarely feel unwelcome. Besides, I’m happy to give them a chance to practice their English, that’s a real thing here! My only question, how do they know I speak English? Why are they not saying hello to me in German, Russian, or French? They always seem to know, awe, here is an American, lol.
And of course, the curiosity sometimes escalates—like when a group of young women once asked to take a photo with me. Somewhere in someone’s photo album is a snapshot of me, arms around strangers, smiling wide.
By the time we left the Hilton that evening, I was starving. I’d said it over and over to Xue while we worked: I’m so hungry. She gave me snacks, but they weren’t enough. Looking for something familiar, I said I wanted a sandwich, so we started heading to a local KFC, which is very popular in China (another story for another day, but I studied in College about how KFC developed their business in China—amazing story actually), but after parking and walking on the way, I spotted something out of the corner of my eye, an image of Korean bibimbap.
That was all it took. We veered off course and ended up in a second-floor Korean restaurant, nearly empty, where I enjoyed a sizzling bowl of stove-top rice, beef, vegetables, and a perfectly cooked egg. Comfort food, foreign yet familiar. A warm end to a full day.
Echo From The West 